


Matters of the Heart

by MrHooty



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29284113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrHooty/pseuds/MrHooty
Summary: They're an unorthodox pair to be sure, but what's worse is that no one seems to be surprised. (shikatema)
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Matters of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of came about because I'm super unhappy with how blushy they made Temari. And that's it, I can't explain the rest.
> 
> But this felt very fitting to me. Hope you like it.

“Do you not miss your home?”

His gaze is sharp and unmoving, and at the sight of this she feels the instinctive twist of suspicion at the pit of her stomach. It is a look of observation, the slow and lingering stare of a predator watching another predator that is far too close for comfort. As if she is impeding on his territory, or as if he’s never seen her before and isn't sure what to make of her.

Maybe this is the disquieted realization that he is not the only one of his kind.

She knows not to consider this too much. Her own brothers look at her this way, sometimes, and she thinks it’s just a learned habit. This distrust so deeply cultivated it is impossible to remove from oneself.

She takes a measured sip of her tea.

“No,” she says, at last. His head tilts and she places her cup back on the table. “I’ll be frank, aside from my family there isn’t much to miss.”

He hums, and considers the untouched plate of favors between them. “You don’t find it hard to be away? I thought you people wax poetic about braving the harsh environments of the desert.”

“That’s silly,” she says, her tone even and discolored. “But I won’t deny it. The older generation scolds us for not bearing with it as well as they did, as if they forget they were the ones that had pushed for so many of the renovations they claim we cannot possibly do without, us spoilt children.”

“And yet you push for more,” he replies, lifting his own cup. “As if you haven’t learned your lesson.”

She smiles. “As if we’d break the cycle. The children of my generation will be weak, sniveling creatures and we’ll pretend we don’t envy them.”

“As is tradition,” he replies. “They tell me I have allowed our medicinal practices go to waste.”

“And so you have. I didn’t see you out there bringing people back from the dead. You disgust me.”

This brings the sharpest smile, thin but genuine. “Do you ever plan on settling? It would be a shame if your abilities ended with your bloodline.”

“I have brothers,” she points out, somewhat uncertain of where this conversation is leading but undeterred all the same. “Fully capable. I could train a niece or a nephew easily, should they inherit these abilities.”

“You sit there and think your brothers would have any success.”

“You offend my family name. What makes you think they wouldn’t?”

At this, he chuckles softly. “What makes you think they _would_?”

“And yourself? Aren’t you the last of your name?”

“Not the last,” he says, reaching up to smooth a hand over his dark hair. “But there aren’t very many users left. It seems we’re a dying breed.”

“That’s a shame,” she says, and she’s being honest. She had never heard of them growing up, they were not considered on the same league as an Uchiha or a Hyūga, and she thinks either this was a mistake or a calculated effort by his clan to force people to underestimate them.

“Maybe not,” he sighs, dropping his hand. “With any luck, there will be no need for us, one day. Maybe this is a good sign.”

She’s somewhat unconvinced, but decides not to press it. It isn’t her business what he’s feeling, or why. “You’re being talkative this time around. Are you excited to see me?”

“Not quite.” There’s a shift in his tone she catches immediately. Perhaps at having been asked the question he had been dreading most, as he seems to lean away from her in an effort to fold into himself. Arms crossed, chin tucked in. They are sitting in the living area of the apartment she has been lent for the duration of her stay and she is hardly dressed for the day. Cloaked in the robes she had gone to sleep in, she had at least had mind enough to keep him waiting outside while she fixed her hair and brushed her teeth. It’s hardly appropriate, but not wholly unwelcome. “There’s a favor I want to ask of you.”

“So the truth comes out.” She leans back. “I figured there was more to this than an amicable visit. Tell me.”

“It’s a bit much. I wouldn’t blame you if you declined. In fact, I mostly expect you to.”

She lifts a single brow, but says no more.

He relents, but casts aside his glance. “We both know Naruto isn’t long to take the title.”

“No, it’s only a matter of time. As we all say.”

“Well, we imagine that with that will come a pretty significant shift between our villages. You know how much your brother favors him.”

“All too well.”

“What I’m getting at is, I was wondering if you wanted to get married with me.”

She pauses, perhaps to consider him. His face is composed, but his eyes betray him. They flicker when she peers at him for a little longer than he seems comfortable with. “How unexpected,” she murmurs, casting her gaze over him coolly. “Is there a reason behind this?”

His face pinches a little, clearly unwilling to continue. “I would think you’d find it obvious.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” she says, folding her arms. “Unless this is about maintaining your bloodline, in which case I’ll have to decline. I have no interest in assisting you with that.”

“It’s not,” he mutters. “And I would think you caught that, before. I don’t...really care about that.”

She holds his gaze, impassive, until he relents once more.

“I have...become aware that things aren’t as peaceful as we had hoped they would be. After this war, I mean.”

“No,” she allows, recalling the discussions her youngest brother had held with his council. How the villages in the easternmost countries had threatened something or another and how tired he had looked then, the shadows under his eyes deep and profound and unending. “Unfortunately not.”

“Even with Naruto at the helm, I...sincerely doubt things will get much better. It’s not as if _everyone_ magically changed their opinion on jinchuuriki.”

“Okay,” Temari says, watching him. “I’ll bite. What does this have to do with us tying the knot?”

“We...still hold some importance. In public opinion.” He gestures between them. “We’re seen together a lot, for better or worse. We are our respective villages’ diplomats. You by name, and me...by association, you could say. It wouldn’t be _completely_ far fetched if we had suddenly announced we were engaged.”

“Cut to the chase.”

“Look, historically people married outside of their villages in order to strengthen bonds and seal treaties. This fell out of practice because it became archaic. But not because it stopped working. And really, isn’t it more barbaric that a prominent family were to promote inbreeding in order to maintain a certain purity within their bloodline? Why would this be any worse, in any way?”

“Mmhm.” Temari leans her chin against the heel of one hand.

He moved his hands to his lap to twist at his own fingers. “I’m saying if that’s still normalized, why can’t this?”

“What are you gaining from this?” She folds her arms. “This seems highly out of character for you. You never struck me as the type to sacrifice yourself for your village.”

“Things change,” he says. “My priorities aren’t what they used to be. I’m certain you had the same thing when your dad died, too.”

This stings, in quite unexpected ways. She had never been close to her father, she’ll make no pretense of that. But his passing had affected her nonetheless. The final semblance of security lifted from the shoulders of she and her brothers; the reality of their situation pressing on them at last. Perhaps there is some truth to this. There are bags underneath Shikamaru’s eyes and a pallor most unhealthy to his skin. No longer does he give the rancid stench of cigarettes, but if she knows anything about him at all it is that he seems to be loyal to a fault. She figures after his father’s passing he had allowed himself to sink into his family duties as a form of coping with it. Entirely unhealthy, but not _uncharacteristic_.

She considers him for a moment longer, but one couldn’t say she was moved.

“There are countless women who would no doubt be happy to do this,” she sighs, and this is true to some degree. “You have a reputation now. People know your name.”

“I can barely tolerate myself most days, you think I could some stranger?” He reaches up to fiddle with the stud in his ear. “And I’m not asking for a wife. I don’t want someone living in my home and sleeping in my bed with me. I can’t say I’d ever been fond of the idea of doing it to begin with, this at least gives me an out. Look, I don’t want to tie you down, by any means. We’d only be married by name. And aside from a few public appearances here and there, you’re under no obligation to spend any time with me if you don’t want to. And you definitely don’t have to help me with my...family obligations. It isn’t your business and I don’t want to make it so. I imagine you feel the same way.”

Temari scoffs. “Do you know what the public would do to me if they thought that I was barren?”

“Then we let them think it’s my fault.” He holds her gaze. “I can take the public embarrassment, it by no means makes a difference to me.”

“Okay, let me get this straight. You’re asking for my hand for the pure image it gives the world. No strings attached. I show up for a photo or two, then fuck off to do whatever I want?”

“If we’re mincing words.” His voice is hushed now. “You’re more than free to say no.”

“How rich,” she snorts. “I’ll hand it to you, I’ve never cared much myself for marriage either. To be held back by a man -- if I had ever been destined for anything, it was never that.”

He reaches toward the tea kettle. “So…”

“Alright,” she says as he fills her cup once more. “Give me a few weeks to think this over. Let me weigh out the pros and cons properly, then you’ll get your answer.”

.x.

Her business in Konoha concluded, she packs her things and embarks on her journey home once more. She would not be back for some time, and so before she crosses the entrance of his village she gives him a thin, coldly polite smile and tells him, “Expect a letter in three weeks time.”

His response was the slightest inclination of his head. Nothing more. It is an exchange like any other. A diplomatic farewell nobody bats an eye at.

It does not take her three weeks to decide. It does not even take her half of that. Temari considers her bedroom upon returning and wonders idly if she is content here. She is partly here and partly very much elsewhere. She hardly sleeps in her own bed. She’s outgrown her homesickness quicker than she had had time to identify it. And her brothers she loves to death, but they are so enthralled in this village and it’s goings abouts that she knows she was always meant to be the one to leave it. She pinches her sheets almost gingerly. Easily she could get herself a nice little home on the border between their countries, in those niche little villages not quite identifying with the other. She could paint its walls the way she wants, and walk about nude if she so felt like.

Temari has known independence, but has she really _known_ it? Had she ever imagined herself, away from this place? Had she pictured greeting the morning sun from the balcony of a lush apartment, well rested and smiling?

She briefly touches on the idea of marriage, for what seems like the first time in years. As a child she had never fantasized about it, and while she hadn't exactly been unique in that she had always had some measure of privilege over the other girls; never would she worry about being left to struggle. Between the three of them, the pressure of continuing their bloodline had never been specifically placed on her. And in that vein, she being an heiress to their decent fortune she wouldn't have to concern herself over money or shelter. Her youngest brother had no intentions of relinquishing his position, if not for spite alone. And her father certainly had never intended on letting it go either. She would always have a home. And always have a means.

Not many other little girls could say the same for themselves.

As such, a lot of girls who had talked up and down about never getting married and never having children had grown into women, her own age, taking the first chance they get. A common kunoichi's salary is dirt, they soon realized. And without taking a few large risks, none of them would be able to even support themselves. This was depressing to say the least. She sees them sometimes, swollen with a child they never wanted. Haggard from a life they had once looked down upon. Some of them never even get that. All their lives disregarding their elder’s warnings to be kind and warm and submissive, lest they never find a man. All their lives believing they’d never have to, now eating their words as they continue to depend on their long-suffering families, or they flock to shelters, thinning with each passing day on the morsels their missions can afford them.

And that’s the joke there. One day they will be too old to be of any service to this village. Temari likes to think that things have changed. When her father was a child, nobody had a choice as to whether they became shinobi or not. If you had access to your chakra, you were capable of defending the village. Children as young as five, already being molded into weapons. Already so easily discardable.

That’s the thing of it. She always wondered at how little the job paid, despite being so crucial for the good of the village. Most people didn’t have the guts to do the higher paying missions, simply because of how dangerous they could be. Specifically in their village, so known for their ruthlessness. In their first four years, they had taken perhaps ninety percent or more of them. With their youngest brother at their side, and the absolutely callous way their father regarded their training, they had little to lose. And so much skill to hone.

How could one support oneself when the cost of this career could be your own life?

Many of the girls she had grown up with had given up this line of work entirely, reduced to housewives. Wholly dependent on their husbands, and producing the type of children this village preys on. It’s postulated that because of this war there will be a decrease of people entering this work field, for how little it will be needed one day, hopefully. That day is not today, or any day soon. But one day, maybe.

She doesn’t see herself letting go of this title any time soon. She prefers the work. She has a keen sense for politics.

Maybe his proposition isn’t so bad. Temari has received her fair share of offers, none she took too serious. The letters come in a number of ways, most addressed to her brother. As if to ask for blessing, or to garner his good grace. These she found most offensive to her, as if she were something to gain.

“They offer strong alliances,” her brother says, turning the letter over to her dismissively. “And much wealth.”

“None enough for me,” she jokes, crumpling it up in a fist. “I want marble palaces. I want countless white stallions, thoroughbred.”

This would, at least, put an end to that mess. And how divine it would be, to walk among men untouched and untouchable. Entirely unavailable to them in all of the best ways.

Temari doesn’t need three weeks to come to her decision. She folds back her sheets and climbs into bed and imagines an apartment in a foreign land, far away from everything she’s ever known. A diplomat’s work doesn’t absolutely require her to live in the same village. She can maintain contact with her brothers and still relay the same amount of information. Switching off the light, she decides she will get to work writing out that letter in the morning.

She has time enough yet.

.x.

The letter frames as such: under the assumption that she would one day soon be required to marry out of political reasons anyway, she saw absolutely nothing wrong with their proposed union. It was suffice to say theirs would be far preferable to her than most. Provided his original proposition still stood, she will accept his hand in marriage. She makes it clear that a contract be created by a trusted source in order to maintain their previously agreed terms. She made no secret of her wishes to remain somewhat independent of him. They would pose as a rather odd, even modernized couple -- still the idea of a kunoichi continuing her career after marriage was a novel, almost frowned upon one -- but they would make the image of the perfect match. If only out of practicality.

She sealed the letter without ceremony and within the hour had it sent out via messenger bird.

There was some measure of lost innocence to this. The letter disappears in the distance and she watches for just a few moments longer, the pit of her stomach dropping even further.

What did Temari feel about him, that boy very suddenly turning into man? Do these emotions really warrant her attention?

She’s never hated him, she supposes. Their first meeting had not moved her, to be truthful. He was a surprise to say the least, and not so quickly forgotten. To be bested by some scrawny little brat in the dumbest of ways, to catch herself thinking _how clever_ , _how useful_ , and find the humor of it only weeks later. By the time her brother was appointed Kage and she his diplomat, Shikamaru was only just becoming burdened by responsibilities that outranked him. Smart boy, but horribly unmotivated. That’s where she stood until the war.

She won’t say she was supremely impressed. She had seen far greater feats, and far greater sacrifices, but not at quite so great a scale. In a sense they had all thought the world as they knew it would come to a violent end, and she had wondered how he could still seem so level despite all of it. Or, at least, to that degree.

The capacity for greatness had always been there, never fully utilized until then.

No, being married to him would not be awful. It definitely would not ruin her image; it was easy to forget that he still came from a noble, established family. However recently they garnered their popularity, and in fact this may even look better on her part. Tying her already well-known name to his -- if she had been anyone else, she would have seen this as an opportunity to rise the ranks of the social class. Maybe this was another part of the reason why he approached her about this. He knew she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about his name, or how it would give her an edge.

But what does she, personally, feel about this?

Oh, she can go on and on about the vague, not-quite friendship they had established over the years, and especially very recently. To be casually paying visits during her stays there, or to be treating one another to lunch when the situation happened to call for it. There is something not entirely amicable about this, whatever it is between them. Temari considers the possibility of friendship, and finds some solace in the idea of a friendly marriage. A guaranteed companion or confidant. Truly, this would be a tightly-held secret. Why wouldn’t they continue to confide in one another as friends? And maybe that was her insecurity speaking. Or her loneliness. But how could she have asked for a better path in life? To be offered both freedom and direction? To be granted security and autonomy?

To be an unmarried woman is to be fodder, she’s always known that.

Temari comes to the conclusion that she is content with this outcome, if not somewhat relieved.

How funny to be provided an out by being granted a way in.

.x.

The response comes a week later, while she is preparing some documents. He is as concise as she. A quick apology for the delay, with the explanation that he had been searching for someone to organize their contract for the proceedings. Which means he fully agrees to her terms. Then comes the question for timing, execution, and how they will go about announcing this. Publicity will help them to an extent. But too much of a show will be suspect.

Neither one is really much for it.

They are private people by default, and she argues that a private affair will then be the best bet at being believable. She proposed, to his protests, that they allow this information to slip in some innocuous but unmistakable way and allow the nosy recipient to do the rest.

“Listen, there’s hardly any weight to us. We see each other like twice a year and it’s always business,” she writes, in an ever-increasing pattern of shortening letters. “Let’s say we drop the ball in a couple months, once we’re all set with the paperwork, then claim we’ve been at this for… Let’s say a year or so.”

“A year,” he responds. “What are we trying to convince people of here, that we’re romantics?”

“Use your head. We’ll pose as star-crossed lovers -- we can even say we’ve been involved since before the war. We started at our last exams, were completely love-stricken over time, and honestly couldn’t help it by the time the war was over. Simple. We were distraught by the trauma, and brought together by it.”

“Easy.”

“I’m not disparaging your loss, it just seems the most believable.”

And it is. Between the two of them, this is the best they can do. There were too many politics involved to take into consideration. Things they hadn’t foreseen. Old laws that had become so out of practice they had to dig around for the particulars. They had to discuss multiple things big and small, from citizenship to the types of flowers they would be allowed to have at the ceremony. This had to work in such a way they wouldn’t give off their true intentions, in the sense of attempting to create an image, but still give off the impression they were still taking the image into account.

It was all very tedious. These flowers were offensive in her culture, and no she didn’t want her name placed on the deed of his family’s land. It would take time before they could reach a passable rough draft of their contract, but they could only do so sparingly. Any amount of time spent on literally anything other their regular obligations showed. Once a week or so, they touch base. Any updates, change of plans. No topic was too small to bring up.

He sent a rough sketch of the seating arrangements, and they discuss at great length what works and what doesn’t. She found a selection of locations, catering, color schemes. He asked her opinion on his traditional wedding garb, what dances would be most appropriate.

She never really allowed herself to become lost in details, but all the while she was acutely aware of how this would look from the outside. She tucked the letters away somewhere private, placing those thoughts aside.

They agree to meet a couple of months into it, mostly because it was somewhat difficult to decide on the finishing touches and also go over the finalized paperwork while three days away from one another. It’s a night’s stop on her way to another location, some little out of the way inn where no one glances at someone twice. She finds him finishing off some beverage at a corner table. Beside him, the stacks of paperwork and blueprints organized beside him.

“You look well,” he greets, moving the stacks onto the table.

“Likewise,” she says flatly. “What do you have for me?”

She didn’t bring much else. Their correspondence, and some notes she had taken about marriage outside of their borders and documented rituals in her village. Nothing too highly important. At least keeping it on record shows they put some thought into this. 

As if they weren’t already.

“The contract, as requested,” he says, pushing it toward her. “Supposedly the final draft, but knowing you it’s probably far from it.”

She all but snatches it up. “You can look those over if you’d like. They’re more like study guides if nothing else.”

“Anything helps.” He sets them aside. “So this is what I’ve managed to put together, if you wanted to go over it before starting.”

First the venue, which they took great pains to decide on. Not something exclusive enough it would take months to book, but not something as impersonal as a park on the side of the road. She felt some trepidation over it, but the final decision to host the ceremony in the forest his family owned seemed the most appropriate. He was quick to assure it made no difference to him either way.

“It’s not like it’s any more binding, legally,” he’d remarked, and that was that.

Then the date, which they still debated. There was much to do in the time leading up to it, their own obligations on either side that needed tending to. Not to mention how they were going to convince the world she could be married and still continue on with her highly demanding position. Which she intended to.

Third, the final details. How to respect each others culture just enough to appear conscious of it, but also without appearing completely concerned with it. There was a lot to cover. This is where he took to looking over her notes as they discussed. The types of food that were and were not allowed, what colors were considered offensive, how to properly decorate everything in such a way it respects the other.

By the time her food arrived, they’d developed a list of pros and cons.

“I don’t think I would’ve been this meticulous if this were a real engagement,” she sighed.

“About that,” he muttered, reaching into his bag.

“Oh no,” she guessed, correctly it seemed, “don’t tell me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the other thing I wanted to ask.” He presented a small, clay colored box. “At what point do we start keeping up appearances?”

She held out her own hand for him to place it onto. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any. Do you have the size right?”

“I guess we’ll see,” he said evasively, folding his arms on the table.

She plucked the ring from it's perch. It was a simple little design, a thin silver band with a minuscule gem nestled into a tiny crown. She was not disappointed. Its modesty reflected his own. Wordlessly, she slipped it onto her finger.

It fit perfectly.

When she met his gaze, he shrugged lightly. “Good guess.”

Her hand felt odd, sort of alien. It took a moment to get past the feeling. “I find that unsettling.”

“Well, you won’t have to deal with me for very long, at least.”

“How to go about explaining this, I wonder,” she murmured, but quickly set that aside before she could dwell on it. “Enough small talk. Let’s take a look at this ‘final draft’ of yours.”

.x.

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a big slow burn.


End file.
